**Chapter 7**
Mac was nestled in his favorite armchair, an open copy of *Great Expectations* resting in his lap, when the piercing trill of the phone shattered the tranquility of the afternoon. Albie, who had been dozing at his feet, lifted his head with a low grumble. Mac reached for the receiver, his heart hitching slightly—calls at this hour were seldom harbingers of good news.
"Professor Elliot?" The voice on the other end was unmistakably Lila's, each word tinged with a heaviness that immediately set Mac's nerves on edge.
"Yes, Lila. Is everything alright?"
There was a brief pause, the kind that stretched too long and spoke volumes. "I'm afraid I have some concerning news," Lila said, her tone now a blend of professional detachment and genuine concern. "The state has concerns about Maggie and Stokely's current living situation. They're considering intervening."
The book slipped from Mac's grasp, thudding against the carpet as the implications of her words sank in. His voice, when he found it again, was barely above a whisper. "What do they mean, 'intervening'?"
"They want to place the girls into foster care or a group facility," she explained, her words careful, measured. "They question the stability of their placement with you."
A cold dread settled in the pit of Mac's stomach, spreading like ink in water. He thought of Maggie's fierce independence, how she'd finally started to let her guard down, and Stokely's gentle soul, finding solace in her sketches amidst the chaos of their lives. The idea of them being uprooted again was unbearable.
"Thank you, Lila. I'll handle this," he said, the protective resolve firming his voice despite the tremor of fear.
"Good luck, Mac." Her voice softened. "You know I believe you're what's best for them."
As the line clicked dead, Mac stood abruptly, Albie mirroring his movement with a concerned whine. Without hesitation, Mac strode across the room to his desk, littered with papers and student essays, and dialed the familiar number etched into his memory.
"Thompson and Associates, how may I assist you?"
"Janet, it's Mac Elliot. I need to speak with Mr. Thompson; it's urgent."
"Of course, Professor Elliot. One moment, please."
The hold music was a forgettable melody, but to Mac, it sounded like the ticking of a clock, time slipping away from him. Then the click, and the deep, assured voice of Mr. Thompson filled the line.
"Mac, what can I do for you?"
"Robert, the state is trying to take Maggie and Stokely away. I need your help to fight this," Mac said, his voice steady with determination.
There was a brief silence on the other end before Robert replied, "I understand. We'll do everything we can. Can you come in first thing tomorrow morning? We'll need to start preparing immediately."
"First thing," Mac affirmed, a warrior steadying himself for battle.
"See you then, Mac."
Hanging up the phone, Mac looked out the window where the sky was painted with the soft hues of dusk. In that quiet moment, as day bled into night, Mac made a silent vow. He would fight with every ounce of his being to keep Maggie and Stokely safe; he would be their unwavering fortress amidst the storm.
Mac's study was an island of lamplight in the evening gloom, papers spread across the mahogany desk like leaves after a storm. His glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he sifted through bank statements, housing records, and letters from the girls' school. Each document was a piece of the fortress he was building to protect Maggie and Stokely. His fingers, calloused from years of turning pages, now shuffled through the evidence of his life, organizing it with meticulous care.
The photos were the last to be placed in the file—snapshots of weekend trips, small family parties, and quiet evenings with books and hot cocoa. The images weren't just memories; they were proof of the affection that filled the walls of their home. Mac traced the outline of Maggie's bright smile and Stokely's mischievous eyes before tucking the pictures away securely.
"Everything hinges on this," he whispered to Albie, who lay sprawled at his feet, offering silent support.
The clock chimed, reminding Mac that time was both an ally and an adversary. He stood up, stretching limbs stiffened by hours of preparation, and shrugged into his coat. It was time for one final errand before he could rest.
The world outside had settled into the hush of twilight as Mac locked the front door behind him. His footsteps echoed down the sidewalk, crisp against the soft whisper of leaves. He rounded the corner, heading towards a late-night print shop that would bind his documents into a presentation worthy of the courtroom.
His work done, he found his way to one of the many bars in town. It was close to his house and a bit more fratty than he was used to, but he decided he needed a drink and thought the odds of running into someone he knew were unlikely.
Mac walked into the bar, Gitty Ups, a cowboy bar that was a bit more upscale than the regular college dive bar. It was packed for a Thursday night with college students and even some older working professionals. Most were dressed to impress, and Mac felt seriously underdressed.
Mac made his way to the bar and ordered a Scotch on the rocks—it was his father's drink. He found it comforting whenever he had stuff on his mind.
"Professor Elliot!" It was Amber, and she was out with a group of her girlfriends. She looked stunning in dark blue jeans, a purple tank top, complete with cowboy boots and a hat. People around her noticed; he could tell her and her female friends were attracting attention. Mac offered a polite smile to Amber, her enthusiasm a stark contrast to the weight of his thoughts.
"Good evening, Amber. It's nice to see you out with friends," he greeted her, raising his glass in a silent toast before taking a sip of the smoky Scotch.
Amber beamed at him, a playful twinkle in her eye. "Are you here for a quick drink or looking for some late-night adventure?" she teased, eliciting laughter from her friends, who had turned their attention to Mac, intrigued by the unexpected appearance of the handsome professor.
Mac chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing momentarily under Amber's light-hearted banter. "Just a quiet drink tonight. I have an early morning tomorrow," he explained, his gaze drifting towards the door as more patrons moved in and out of the bar, each with their own stories and secrets tucked away.
Amber leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, if you ever need a partner in crime or just someone to share a drink with, you know where to find me."
"Amber." Another voice echoed. "Hurry, John, Mike, and Adam are outside and need us."
A tall, incredibly striking woman with dark hair, dark eyes, and a wicked smirk walked to where he and Amber sat.
They made eye contact, but she didn't say anything. She winked at him. "I know that you're in demand, darling, but you have a prior engagement, and it would be rude to leave the others waiting."
The newcomer properly faced Mac; her gaze took him in. "Though I would understand your inclination to stay."
Her gaze made Mac uncomfortable. She also looked vaguely familiar.
Amber rolled her eyes. She turned and gave Mac another smile. "Remember my invitation."
She got up to leave and didn't bother introducing her. Mac thought he heard Amber say the name Sarah but couldn't be sure.
Mac watched her go, the noise of the bar washing over him in a comforting murmur. He thought about the whole issue with the girls and the state. It would have been so much simpler if Lydia were alive.
Mac grimaced. It had been a hot minute since he thought of Lydia. He felt horrified. How could he go more than a day without thinking of her?
He was a lousy husband.
Mac suddenly didn't feel like going home but got himself another drink. He retreated, pushing further back into the depths of the bar, found a quieter corner, and just sat, not thinking about anything, particularly nursing a drink.
"Mac?"
The voice sliced through the air, cutting the chatter of the bar, the sound sharp and familiar. Mac turned, his heart stuttering in recognition. Vivian Sutton stood not ten feet from him, in a business suit that fit her perfect figure. Her red hair flowed long and gleamed in the lights of the bar. Bright green eyes looked at him with surprise and maybe something resembling pleasure. She cocked her hip as she watched him, her silhouette a striking cutout from the background. She was surrounded by loads of people—probably friends and maybe colleagues.
That didn't make any sense. Vivian worked in the big city. She was a big-time lawyer at a massive law firm.
Vivian looked the part too. She dressed like she was coming from work in an attractive business suit perfectly cut for her. Working as a lawyer had always been her dream, and in a short five years, she had accomplished it. Her parents lived around here, a bit more upstate; she must be in town for the holiday.
Mac looked at the people around Vivian.
It was amazing she still had so many friends. She must have come directly from the train station and come right out with her friends.
Speaking of friends, they exchanged looks—at least the women did. The guys that were with her sneered in annoyance.
"Mac," she said. "I cannot believe you are here and in a bar."
"Mac?" One of the girls, a striking brunette with eyes so dark they could have been black. "You mean Mac Elliot. As in your ex-husband?"
Vivian rolled her eyes. "Yes, Mary. That Mac."
She turned to address the others. "Guys, give me a few. Go to the back and get our table. I will catch up."
As the group dispersed to find their table, Vivian approached Mac, her heels clicking against the polished wooden floor. There was a tension in the air, laden with unspoken histories and unresolved emotions. Mac couldn't help but notice how effortlessly elegant she looked, a stark contrast to his own disheveled appearance after a long day of battling to keep his newfound group together.
"Vivian," Mac began, his voice tinged with surprise and perhaps a hint of wariness. "It's unexpected to see you here."
Vivian's emerald eyes locked onto Mac's, an unreadable expression momentarily clouding her features before she composed herself with a tight smile. "Yes, it certainly is unexpected. Last I heard, you were happily settled down, living the quiet life of academia until… well, I heard about Lydia," she remarked, a flicker of uncertainty dancing in her gaze.
Mac shifted uncomfortably under her scrutinizing gaze, his mind racing to comprehend the sudden appearance of his ex-wife after all these years.
"Yes, it's been hard," was all he could say.
Vivian raised an eyebrow, a gesture that made Mac's heart skip a beat—a familiar reaction from their college days when her piercing gaze could unravel his thoughts with ease. "Change indeed. I am really sorry for your loss. Lydia… well, she was amazing. I am sure she is missed."
Mac's smile was sad but determined. "Yeah, she is. A lot."
Vivian's voice brightened. "So, Mac, are you seeing anyone these days?"
He laughed. "No, I wouldn't have time for that."
Vivian could tell that Mac bore the invisible weight of Lydia's absence like an unshakable shroud cloaking his heart. The fact was she knew exactly about her ex-husband's situation. Mac was an amazing man. She liked knowing what was going on with him. And so, she would be lying if she didn't admit she had kept track of him. It had been a year since that fateful day when the world had lost a bit of its color. Lydia's death had been expected, yet the devastation it left in its wake was unfathomable.
Vivian knew all of that. Knew that Mac and Lydia had been the kind of love people wrote songs about, and she knew her loss would be deep for Mac. She also knew that Mac was too good of a guy NOT to have someone. She knew all this. What she didn't realize was, "So you haven't tried to get back out there? Not even for a casual hookup?"
He snorted. "You know I was never very good at that. Besides, I am old, graying, out of shape, and have the girls to look after."
Vivian snorted this time. None of that was true. He always downplayed how attractive he was, even to her who knew him well. It was both infuriating and endearing. It was one of the things she both hated and loved about him. The fact was Mac loved books, but he also loved the outdoors, camping, and stick fighting.
Yes, stick fighting.
Wait, what did he mean, girls?
"Come again?" Vivian said to him.
She listened intently. Fate seemed to have an uncanny way of intertwining the threads of one's life with unexpected twists and turns. Mac told Vivian about Maggie and Stokely, the two runaway girls with shadows lurking in their eyes, who had been one such twist in Mac's meticulously crafted narrative. He told his and the girls' story, how they entered his life, how they bonded, how he had offered them a place in his house, how the state was trying to take them, and his willingness to fight. Vivian looked at him, dumbfounded.
Vivian sat there, stunned into silence as Mac's words hung heavy between them. The information he divulged felt like a tidal wave crashing over her carefully constructed walls, threatening to expose the vulnerability she had buried deep within her own heart.
As she absorbed the reality of the situation, a whirlwind of emotions swept through Vivian's mind. She felt a pang of guilt for not being there for Mac during his darkest hours, an ache of longing for the life they could have had together if things had played out differently, and a surge of admiration for the man sitting across from her—a man she had once loved and still held a place for in her soul.
Mac's selflessness and unwavering dedication weren't unexpected. But it was easy to forget, amidst the chaos of their past, just how compassionate and caring he could be. His willingness to fight for Maggie and Stokely showcased a side of Mac that Vivian had almost forgotten existed.
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Vivian found herself at a loss for what to say, the revelation of Mac's new role as a foster father leaving her reeling. She traced the rim of her glass absentmindedly, her mind racing with conflicting thoughts and memories long buried.
Finally, she looked up, meeting Mac's gaze with a mixture of uncertainty and determination. "I had no idea, Mac," she began softly, her voice tinged with a hint of regret. "I... I wish…" Her words trailed off.
Mac's expression softened at her words, a flicker of something akin to hope sparking in his eyes. "Vivian, I—"
Just then, Amber breezed in with a drink in hand.
"Hey there, Mac! Thought you could use another refill," Amber chirped, placing the drink before him. Her eyes flickered between Mac and Vivian.
Amber slid into the seat beside Mac, her presence subtly shifting the dynamics of the conversation. Vivian's eyes narrowed imperceptibly as she observed the easy camaraderie between Mac and Amber, a flicker of jealousy igniting within her.
"Amber, this is Vivian," Mac introduced, his voice light and easy despite the seriousness of the discussion they had just had. Amber's smile seemed manufactured. "Vivian, this is Amber; she is my teaching assistant and one of my grad students."
Amber smiled again, a gesture that looked forced. "Pleasure to meet you. How do you know Mac? Perhaps you were a mentor or something?"
Vivian narrowed her eyes. "I am his ex-wife. We used to be married."
She stated the obvious and felt dumb doing it.
An "O" appeared on Amber's lips. "So you're his ex-wife. Interesting."
Vivian watched Amber. The girl was cute and knew it—probably 25 or 26 to her 29 years. She possessed a young vibrancy and was noticeably into Mac, which he was clearly clueless about.
Vivian felt despite her years she was still better looking. She was much more Mac's type than the top-heavy blonde.
Vivian shook her head. That didn't matter. They were not married anymore, they hadn't talked in years, and he had lost his wife who used to be her best friend. She needed to knock it off.
As Amber leaned into whisper something to Mac, a shiver ran down Vivian's spine. She knew that she had no right to feel possessive or territorial over Mac, especially after all these years apart, but seeing him with the blonde stirred up emotions she thought she had long buried.
Mac, oblivious to the silent battle waging within Vivian, chuckled at something Amber said, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. It was a look Vivian knew all too well—the way his entire face lit up when he was genuinely amused. She remembered countless moments where she had been the cause.
Something Amber said brought her back to reality. "Mac, we should go out for dinner."
Vivian's eyes flared in surprise.
Mac seemed taken aback. "What? Why would we do that?"
Amber smiled. "Because I know what you've been through, and it would be inappropriate for me to just show up naked at your door in my attempt to comfort you and make you mine."
Mac snorted at this. Vivian could feel her heart rate quickening.
Amber turned to see her friends; they were gesturing and yelling for her.
Amber turned to look at Mac. "I know you would never date a student. But I am almost done, and I have always had a thing for you. Obviously, you have my number."
With that, Amber got up, kissed his cheek, and walked back to her friends, shaking her butt as she did.
Mac just laughed and shook his head.